


Palpatine, Emperor of Peace

by Ailelie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, F/M, Padmé Amidala Lives, well he does but he recovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: When Anakin returns to the Light at Mustafar, Palpatine pivots and pins his crimes on Anakin.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Palpatine, Emperor of Peace

_No._ Emperor Sheev Palpatine shuddered and fell into his desk on his ship as he cast all his rage into his bond with Anakin Skywalker. The heat of Mustafar pressing into his skin pained him less than the blighted _Light_ he felt cutting through the Master-Apprentice bond.

The Jedi were dead and scattered. His Empire had been born, ending the long war. His years of planning had reached their fruition—Skywalker would have his final confrontation, die, and be fully reborn as Darth Vader, _Emperor_ Palpatine’s deadly shadow.

 _No more, Master,_ Skywalker gasped through the bond. _No more—_

Then light.

Sheev came to on the floor moments later.

The bond was gone.

 _All right_ , he thought as he ordered his ship to return immediately to Coruscant. _New plan._ If Skywalker was not standing at his side, then he was a threat Sheev needed to neutralize.

* * *

Anakin’s hands tightened on the lower edge of the medical observatory window. Droids hovered around Padmé, silent through the transparisteel.

“What if I killed her?” he asked, not for the first time since Padmé’s contractions had started. “I _choked_ her, Master, I—”

“She is not dead yet, Anakin. Is the senator one to give up without a fight?” Obi-Wan stood beside him. Anakin was surprised how much he appreciated his proximity. Their bond, weakened over the years, echoed with disappointment and regret. Focusing on it hurt, but even with that, Obi-Wan was still standing beside him.

When Padmé had fallen unconscious, not even waking for her own labor, Obi-Wan had been the one to act, to contact Bail Organa, to secure medics—if Padmé lived, it would be because of Obi-Wan.

If she died—“When do you think they’ll let me see the babies?” Anakin asked. The twins had been born over a half hour prior and had each been whisked away before Anakin could get more than a glimpse.

“I don’t know.”

Anakin forced himself to breathe deeply. When he could relax his hands on the window, he said, “I can’t live without them.”

Obi-Wan was silent. Then, when Anakin began to fear he’d somehow disappointed him again, Obi-Wan carefully placed his hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

Anakin tensed. Obi-Wan pulled away, but Anakin caught his wrist and moved it back to his shoulder. He pressed back against Obi-Wan’s palm. “Thank you.”

A door opened and an administrator walked through. “Would you like to see your children now?” he asked.

Anakin looked to Obi-Wan and then back at Padmé.

“Go,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll keep watch over your wife.”

Anakin followed the administrator into a small nursery. Each twin slept beneath a humming dome of light.

“Are they—” he didn’t know how to finish the question.

A floating droid beeped brightly and answered in a surprisingly resonant voice. “They were born early. The light is helping finish their development. You’ll be able to hold them in 1.5 hours.”

Anakin stood between the two tables, fingertips touching each. His son and daughter were alive. His son was bald and wrinkled his nose in his sleep. Dark fuzz covered his daughter’s head; her right hand twitched in and out of a fist. The name plates on the side of each bed were blank. He knew their names, but he would not give them without Padmé.

“Little ones, nothing will ever harm you. I swear it.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan was shouting both out loud and through the bond.

Panicked, Anakin tripped, nearly falling to the floor, in his race to turn and rush back to the waiting room.

“ _Is she—”_

“ _She’s awake.”_

Anakin crossed the room in two long strides and fell against the transparisteel with both palms. Padmé looked at him then and wearily smiled. “She’s alive. They’re all alive.” He was crying.

Obi-Wan rubbed his back. “They are.”

“What happens now?”

Before Obi-Wan could answer, the administrator re-entered the room carrying a holonet player. “Masters, Senator Organa contacted the clinic. He said you needed to see this immediately.” The administrator hesitated and then added, “Your children and wife should be stable enough for travel in two hours. I would be ready.” He placed the player on a table and pulled up a recent recording of the Emperor.

* * *

Sheev meditated in the moments before his public address, spinning his fury and frustration into a tight, pulsing knot in his chest. Years of planning snapped by that impulsive, idiotic boy. He had not achieved his success through inflexibility, however. He reviewed the new narrative again, checking each element for credibility. Anakin Skywalker was going to regret ever denying him. He flattened an inappropriate smile as one of his assistants rapped on the door.

“Emperor, they’re ready.”

He stood and, with a deep breath, lowered his shoulders and chin—the picture of exhaustion, disappointment, and regret.

“Very well,” he said, opening the door. “I suppose it is time.”

The journalists waited in tense silence. “So much has changed, hasn’t it? The last time we stood here together, many of you had questions I could not answer. Now that my tormenter is gone, however, I have some answers. They may not be comforting, but they are the truth.”

He sighed and slumped forward slightly. He did not cry, but he knew the cameras would catch a sheen on his eyes. “We have been most terribly betrayed. One of our heroes has proven himself a dangerous and deadly enemy. Anakin Skywalker tried first to destroy our great Republic, and then our Empire.” He paused for the gasps and rush of questions.

“I know,” he said, raising a hand for quiet. “I watched Skywalker grow up in Coruscant and, when he became an adult, I counted myself lucky to be one of his friends. When I first heard of his actions, I denied them.” He looked down. “We lost a great man, Master Mace Windu, because of my stubbornness. Had I listened—” he let his voice trail off into quiet. None of the reporters made a sound. Good. He gave the silence another beat and then looked up once more.

“Our brave and fallen Jedi ensured his ultimate failure. I mourn the cost they paid to save us all. I do not know the full extent of his treachery, but I will share what I can because you all deserve to know the truth of our hero.”

From there, Sheev spun his story. As much as it pained him to lose the apprentice whom he had been grooming for over a decade, attachment would only lead to further loss. He could not leave Skywalker free to act; the boy knew too much. After this speech, though, no one would ever lionize or trust him again.

“Master Mace Windu came to me with grave concerns that Knight Skywalker was no longer acting in the best interests of the Republic, that he was collaborating with the Separtists to prolong the war. Every victory he claimed had been planned. I refused to listen, of course. The entire idea seemed a strange plot to undermine the strength of our army. I even began to suspect the Jedi. Then Master Windu promised evidence.

“We agreed to meet again. Before Master Windu could share his evidence, however, Knight Skywalker burst into my offices and killed Master Windu. He lied to me. He claimed the Jedi were conspiring to assassinate me. I might have believed him had his explanations not confirmed some of what Master Windu had shared. When I expressed my doubts, he attacked me himself. Whenever I contradicted him, he would hurt me again. I do not know if it was sentiment that kept him from killing me or if he needed my voice for his plans.” He gripped the podium as though it held him up. “You can see for yourselves the results of his torture.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure what else Knight Skywalker did, but I have suspicions. Anakin—” he stopped and closed his eyes as if pained. “Skywalker,” he started again, allowing emotion to thicken his voice, “was always very talented with mechanics. The clones each have a chip in their brains to help them remain mentally stable. It is no different than those with embedded medicinal pumps or prosthetics. It is my suspicion that Skywalker took advantage of that chip to force the clones to act against the Jedi. He could have created a virus that spread from clone to clone, waiting for activation. I have already contacted the doctors and technicians at Kamino to reverse this terrible injustice.”

“What makes you think that he’s responsible for that?” The question in various forms flew from various reporters at once.

“Because after he left my office, he took the clones to attack the Jedi Temple.” Sheev nodded to one of his attendants. Cast on the wall behind him, they began playing the footage he’d found earlier in the wreckage of the Temple. In it, the Hero Without Fear marched through the temple and slaughtered children.

When the video ended, the entire assembly was again silent. Until one reporter asked, her voice shattered, “Why? Why did he do this?” Sheev noticed the use of “did” instead of “would” with great satisfaction.

“Master Windu thought he craved glory,” Sheev said with a sad smile. “That is one of the reasons I disbelieved him at first. Skywalker was too driven, too passionate to do all this for _glory_. While we may never know his true motives, I do have a hypothesis. Before Skywalker joined the Jedi, he was a slave on an Outer Rim planet. He confided in me as a child that he had promised to one day save his mother from slavery. He thought the Jedi would help him. When they didn’t, when the Republic didn’t—I think he blamed us all.”

“You think he was a Separtist?” someone asked.

“No, despite Master Windu’s suspicions, I think they were likely as misused and fooled as we. Prolonged war serves no one. We managed to find peace in the end, but I wonder how many lives we might have saved on both sides had Skywalker not been involved.”

“Where did he go? Is he going to come back?” The question interrupted Sheev’s rhythm, but it was something he had to address.

“I would not be standing here if I thought he would return,” Sheev said. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of the remaining Jedi, chased Skywalker out of Coruscant. It is thanks to him we are free now today. I trust he will not fall prey to his former apprentice’s lies.” He would do more to champion and destroy Kenobi later; perhaps he could imply a tragic case of post-traumatic stress weakening his morale, making him too-easy prey for an old friend. For now, though, it was enough to remind everyone of his connection to Skywalker.

He continued, “Our Empire was hard won. The Confederacy did not join the Republic. The Republic did not dissolve. Instead, together, we formed something new that we can build together. United we can meet the needs of everyone within the Empire—starting by restoring free will to the clones Skywalker so cruelly used. Additionally, I am declaring three days hence a Day of Mourning for the Jedi and all those lost in this too-long war.”

He accepted a few more questions then, waiting for the attendant he’d planted to ask, “Why are you the emperor? Why not someone else?”

The question was clumsily asked, but the crowd hushed. “That declaration was the result of many long meetings behind the scenes where I and others who desired peace tried desperately to end the war. I assumed the role of emperor only for my role leading the former Republic and being the primary contact with the Confederacy. I understand that this was a sudden change for anyone not involved in those conversations, however, which is why I am pledging here today that once we bring Skywalker to justice, we will hold a general election for Emperor.”

“Why wait?” his plant shouted.

“That is a good question,” Sheev said. “We do not yet know if Skywalker acted alone or had allies. Until we bring him to justice, anyone who may choose to run for Emperor may secretly be tied to him. Skywalker betrayed us all once. We will not allow him to do so again. Now, if you will excuse me, there is work to be done.”

On the way back to his offices, Sheev sorted through his mental timeline. The clones would need to be fixed before the Day of Mourning; their presence was too good of a photo op to miss. It grated offering the possibility of an election, but if he played this right—and he would—he would gain the loyalty and support of the people. With such popularity, he may even be able to hold the election fairly.

He would need to implicate Senator Amidala soon, though. The reporters should find record of her marriage to Skywalker. The false names complicated the issue, but he knew of at least two reporters who could be trusted to dig if given a particularly promising lead. He just needed to decide how to leak it. With the senator implicated, her allies would lose face in the Imperial Senate, further cementing his control.

He made an idle note to oust the Hutts. Going against slavery would reinforce his new image and he could play it as belatedly making amends for not figuring out Skywalker sooner.

Sheev smiled. This was not the game he had prepared to play, but it would be an entertaining one.

* * *

Anakin and Obi-Wan finished the broadcast in silence. Fury, betrayal, and _shame_ choked Anakin; he couldn’t respond.

“We have less than two hours,” Obi-Wan said, his voice near toneless. “I’ll start on our preparations.”

Anakin turned to him. “What—don’t you _care?_ He—I—”

“Of course I care,” Obi-Wan interrupted sharply. “But I can’t change what you did. I can’t change what he said. I can’t do _anything_ it seems.”

Obi-Wan echoed with pain and Anakin realized he was reacting again and letting his anger rule him. He had to be better now, otherwise—he remembered Padmé struggling under his power. He forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. Obi-Wan was right; they couldn’t change what had happened. Anakin would never be able to clean the blood from his hands. That didn’t mean they couldn’t do _anything_ , though.

“We stop him.”

“Vengeance is not the Jedi way,” Obi-Wan said, but Anakin shook his head.

“Jedi are supposed to protect people,” he said, feeling out the words as he said them. “The Chanc—emperor is dangerous, but we’re the only ones who know that.” He met Obi-Wan’s gaze. “We’re the only ones who can protect them.”

“I agree.” Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s relief through their bond and realized he had accidentally passed some kind of test. He wanted to be agitated, but Obi-Wan had reason to be wary. Anakin had given him far too many reasons to be wary. “I’ll prepare the ship. Talk to Padmé.” He left and Anakin turned back to the window where Padmé seemed to be speaking with the droids still tending her.

She caught his eye and smiled. Anakin swallowed and knocked on the window to see if anyone would let him in. He grasped for the right words to apologize and explain. He had never deserved her, but she’d stayed. And he knew now, with a confidence he had lacked before, that even after he told her how Palpatine had pinned all of his own crimes on Anakin, she would remain.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't intend to write more, even though I know this is just the set-up for a larger universe. I may write more snippets in this 'verse.
> 
> Note: This is my first piece of Star Wars fanfic. I've not watched Clone Wars. I haven't seen the films in years. I just needed to get this idea out.


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